Lux Aeterna
by StorytellerLore
Summary: What if a hero had never come to Termina? Who will rise up to the challenge when the Moon begins to fall? CremiaxOC


**Title**: Lux Aeterna [_Eternal Light_]

**Chapter**: Prologue

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on the Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask [copyright Nintendo, Shigeru Miyamoto and Takashi Tezuka] and the Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask manga [copyright Akira Himekawa].

**Warning**: Lux Aeterna is an alternate reality story that contains hints of femslash and a future lime warning. Please criticize constructively.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Music<strong>

Nick Cave and Warren Ellis- Memory

Sigur Rós- Untitled 3

* * *

><p>It wasn't as though Cremia was frightened by the sense of foreboding that she felt every time that she made a delivery to Clock Town. In truth, she wasn't frightened by much. Not tales of ghosts from the ancient kingdom of Ikana nor the Chu-Chu jellies and Blue Bubbles that could have harmed her wagon as it passed through the fields of Termina. Not the darkness and the wolfos that could have been lurking within the trees, nor Keatons nor an angry flock of Cuccos. Not even the bandits could frighten her, though each time that she passed through Milk Road, a part of her remained ever on edge.<p>

She had no choice but to remain wary these days. They crept through to the Ranch in the dead of night and ruined much of the milk that she had harvested to sell to the Milk Bar. Chateau Romani, milk so sweet and potent that it could only be consumed by those who had been deemed an adult by the owner of the Milk Bar, Mr. Barten. A few jars of it alone could fetch enough money to pay for the ranch for another month, but that was, unfortunately, all that was left as she had entered into the barn to find shards of glass and puddles of milk everywhere. All of her hard work shattered just as well, gone, and the sounds of silent laughter mocking her with the bandits' disappearance. Only enough milk to pay for one more month...and then one more year...and still only one more...

Her father would have wanted her to do what was best for her and her sister. Ever since he had died many years previous, she had put the same blood, sweat, and tears into running the ranch as he had. Their father had worked himself nearly to death trying to obtain the money to afford the ranch and when he had, he had not slowed or faltered in his dream to become a rancher, to provide the best of his stock that he could have given. He had taught Cremia from the moment that she could walk how to tend the horses and Cuccos, to milk the cows, to taste the milk and ensure that the taste would be more than adequate to those who drank it, and when Romani was born, he had taught her the same. He had put so much of himself into the ranch that when he died, Cremia was sure that he would tell her, as the eldest, to take care of the ranch. However, the last words that left his rough lips had been "Take care of your sister...I love you..."

He had loved the ranch, had loved it so dearly that he had named his second child after it. And it was that Romani that he had asked Cremia to take care of. Romani, who was innocent and imaginative, who had a laugh and a smile bigger than anyone that she knew, who spent all of her free time practicing with a bow, who claimed and insisted to her sister- the one whom she looked up to for trust and understanding- that "They" were coming.

Cremia rounded the corner that signaled the end of the Milk Road, feeling a little more at ease as she took in her first gaze of the Clock Town walls and the fields that stood between a successful delivery and a failure. Every time that she ventured to town, her spirits always seemed to take a turn for the worst. Because going to town always reminded her about _him_...and _her_...however, she couldn't help but feel a little sense of joy at the town lights permeating the gray darkened sky. It meant that she was close, ever so close, to selling the milk, after so many broken jars and the fleeting thought that she was going to have to give up the ranch. It didn't allow her to let go of her wariness, not even with money in hand, not even when she had returned home, because next time, the bandits could take their money and what would she and Romani be left with then?

The faint smell of sea salt entered Cremia's nose as she passed the large wooden gate that seperated the Milk Road from the fields, and, if she could have looked over the tree line to her right, she would have seen the looming Woodfall mountain with its purpled gray smoke. Soon, though, she would take in the scents of food and see the draping banners and preparations for the Carnival of Time, all of the people whose eyes would only widen for the impending celebration occurring tomorrow.

It was the largest festival that they celebrated in Termina, honoring the Four Giants who watched over and guarded the land. Masks, music, dancing, fireworks- all to ask a blessing from the Giants for a good harvest year, a year for prosperous endeavors and honest joy. Mr. Barten always insisted that she stay in town during the Carnival, that those who drink her milk would know who to turn to and thank, instead of giving him all of the credit for the good harvest that Cremia always seemed to bring beforehand. But Cremia could only smile at him and politely decline. She never stayed in town when she could help it- there was always work to be done at the ranch and she never liked to leave Romani for too long. Sure, she wasn't alone. Grog and Mamaru Yan stayed behind and watched over her while her sister was gone, but to Cremia, it wasn't the same.

She loved her sister far too much to be parted with her for long. Romani was perhaps the only other reason why this trip to Clock Town was even the least bit bearable. And it had taken Cremia to promise her that there might have been bandits that she could shoot, for practice, to get Romani to sit behind the cart with her bow, watching as vigilantly as a soldier.

Even before Cremia drove the cart around the tall grasses that stood between her and Clock Town, she noted that something was...off...about the fields. She didn't immediately realize it until no iridescent blue flames came up to inspect the cart. There were no skulls that came so close to her face that she could almost feel the breath that it might have had, if it had been alive, watching her with green lit eyes, the bat wings that protuded from its skull flapping themselves, the body of the skull unable to keep a straight flying path, laughing at her with a deep gutteral sound, before veering away from her and her cart and back to the tall grasses in which that one roamed.

She supposed that she was grateful that it wasn't here to bother her this time. She didn't have to worry about it jinxing her if she lost her composure and ended up scaring it or making it angry. No bandits, no Bubble, her sister riding along with her in the back of the wagon- it seemed as though the night was looking up for Cremia, and though she didn't want to curse her luck, she prayed that the ride home and the next delivery would be just as smooth as this was one.

The slip of a smile graced her face. She didn't have enough faith for that, to wistfully wish for such things. Just the night would be enough.

* * *

><p>Romani could only stare at the large shape that sat atop one of the pillars to the gate. She was unsure as to whether or not she should have nocked her bow, but her hands remained still, the bow on her lap, and she resorted to squinting her eyes at the shape, trying to see if she could make it out. However all that she could determine was a slender lower shape and a larger, more bulbous shape that sat atop it. Romani let out a groan as the wagon moved farther and farther away from the gate- she really wanted to know what the shape was and she knew that Cremia would be ever so angry with her if she left the wagon to find out.<p>

She hated it when Cremia was angry with her and she hated it when Cremia treated her like a child. She knew that her sister was only trying to protect her. Cremia had become every bit their father when their father had passed away, and was trying to do her best to keep the ranch running. It was why Romani never complained when chores had to be done or when Cremia stood over her like a hawk when it came to the milk; she loved the ranch just as much as Cremia did.

Even then, she still treated Romani as though she was just a little girl. She wasn't little! She was old enough to watch the ranch when her sister was away, to do all of the chores that needed to be done, and to protect the ranch from Them.

As Romani continued to watch the shape get farther away from her, a familiar sense of disappointment ran through her. Cremia never believed her about Them. She said that Romani was dreaming, that if They existed, then why had she never seen Them? Even when Romani knew that They were coming and had told Cremia to watch and wait, that They would come, Cremia never did. She claimed that the ranch was more important than looking out for fairy tales, that they had real work to be doing and that she should get some sleep.

But Romani wouldn't sleep that night. And Cremia would waken to find her little sister dead on her feet, struggling to keep her eyes open, her grip on her bow tight despite her fatigue and a smile on her face. And Romani would always turn to her sister and say "I got 'em..." before falling into her sister's arms, asleep before the elder even reached the door to their home.

She would always receive a scolding when she woke up and it would always deflate her smile. But she knew...she knew! They were real.

Even if Cremia had to give her all of the scoldings in the world, she would still take up her bow and defend the ranch. As she had early this morning and as she had an early gray morning the year previous.

Romani watched as the bulbous part of the shape turned, almost as if it was cocking a head to one side. She was excited- the shape was real, it was a living thing, it was looking at something. Was it them? Despite her excitement, she kept her realization and joy to herself. Even if she told her Cremia about the bird, she was sure that her sister would tell her that the shape was only a part of her imagination.

* * *

><p>Of all of the things that Cremia thought would reach out to hinder the wagon, what lay on the ground was not one of them. The jolting of the cart awakened the little sense that the rancher had lost in her hoping, and she could hear the fell of jars behind her, glass rolling on wood, Romani behind her, screaming about the milk. She called out her sister's name just as she heard the sound of broken glass, an exclamation of fear, and her hands pulled hard on the reins, trying to halt a spooked horse that was itching to take off running.<p>

It took a good minute to settle the horse, even with the taut reins that were using all of Cremia's strength, and fortunately, luck was on her side that night. Mostly...the broken glass still permeated her mind. Of the four jars that had been loaded into the cart, at the most, only one could be broken before the amount of money that she would make wouldn't be enough to pay the rent. And as the horse began to settle, a part of her, that hopeful part, dreaded the answer that lay before her.

When the horse had fallen still, save for the shakes of its head and the sounds of a hoof pawing at the ground, Cremia jumped down from the cart and went to comfort it and reassure it with touch that it was alright, that there was nothing to be afraid of. As she took the horse's head into her hands and stroked its forehead, there was a strange measure of comfort that she took for herself as well, as if trying to reassure herself that one, two, or four jars broken, everything would be alright. Placing her head on the horse's brow, still she vainly hoped for just one.

A tugging at her dress alerted her to Romani's presence.

"Cremia..."

Cremia turned to look down at her sister, who in dim lantern light, looked as though she had broken not a bottle but every dream that the two of them had left.

"I'm sorry...it broke and I know you worked really hard and...I'm sorry..." Cremia couldn't help but smile as she looked down at Romani, who was looking down at her feet. She knelt down next to her and reached over to grab one of Romani's hands before pulling the girl into an embrace, one that her sister immediately reciprocated.

"It's alright," Cremia said, her smile never faltering even when Romani could no longer see her face. She pulled away from Romani just enough that they were facing one another and the arms that held the younger girl were loose but binding. "I'm sure that you tried to stop it and I appreciate it. But the important thing is that you're safe." She paused thoughtfully as a heavy sigh escaped her lips. "How many bottles broke?"

"One..." A sigh of relief passed just as quickly as the one previous. Luck truly was on her side this night.

"Well, if you had not been here, it might have been all of them. You did a good job." Romani looked up at her sister and after a lingering moment, a smile came to her face and she went to embrace Cremia once more. As they parted, Cremia stood and took Romani by the hand.

"Now, what's say you and I go and move whatever that was, so that we don't run into it again next time?" Romani nodded, that smile still on her face, and she wiggled out of Cremia's grip, running to the back of the wagon to retrieve the bow that she had left behind in her temporary melancholy. Cremia took that moment to go and retrieve a lantern that hung on the front of the cart (to her increasing joy, it seemed that only that one bottle had been broken) and she followed her sister's path and beyond into the night that lay now currently in front of them.

As they walked, Romani held her bow nocked with an arrow, her head turning every which way, and Cremia couldn't help but feel another swelling of joy in her chest. Lo, to the bandit that had to reckon with the girl's skill at archery. That determined face of hers, almost daring anything to walk out so that she could shoot it...Cremia shook her head.

They passed the broken glass of the milk bottle, the shards touched with thin white streams and pools of milk, but other than those, there was nothing left save for a large wet spot where the milk was being absorbed into the ground. She didn't want to curse her good luck by dwelling upon that single bottle, so she avoided wishing that their ride had been smoother. They would retrieve the glass when they finished moving the obstruction; Cremia wanted to take care of the larger issue at hand first.

As they came to the spot where their wagon had jolted and the light came to shine over the object that was now on Cremia's mind, she thought that her mind was playing tricks on her. It had to be- there was no way that it could be. But as the light encompassed the obstruction more and she was able to get a better aerial look at it, the lantern nearly dropped from her hand.

"Cremia..."

An unmistakable bodily masked form was lying in a grass-matted pool of red, a winged skull whose head had been split at its feet. The hilt and blade of a sword lay next to the split in the skull. Cremia's knees nearly gave out as the body let out a very painful groan. More horror than guilt made itself known on her face as the realization struck her harder than the bottle had struck the ground: she had run over a _living_ being...dear Goddess, what had she done?

She nearly fell to the ground at the body's side, the lantern striking the ground and all but forgotten, and it was only a moment later that Romani knelt down opposite her, her weapon forgotten as well. She didn't want to lift the being or even touch it, not knowing how much damage had been done or how much more damage that she could even do.

The being was half-naked, skin browned and Cremia was unsure as to whether or not the color was natural or a result from remaining for too long in the sun. What appeared to be a small wide-tasseled poncho with the only thing that covered its chest and green wrappings passing themselves off as an undergarment. A brooch no longer than the length of her hand rested atop the cloth of the poncho, a winding blackened holster housing a rounded jewel, orange flecked with spots of red. The poncho and the upper part of the wrapping were completely soaked in blood that had just started to slow from wounds that covered its belly and chest, marks that did not appear to have come from her wagon. Barefoot, the only other things that remained upon its body were what appeared to be two large, shieldlike armguards and the mask that covered its face.

The mask was a royal blue in body, the design that sat upon it a shining golden sun. The sun's rays opposed each other, golden rays facing in one direction and whitened rays facing in the other. Wide slots for eyes had been cut into the area within the sun and, with the aid of the forgotten lantern, Cremia could see that those eyes were open, staring at her.

Swallowing a semblance of her fear, Cremia moved her hands to the body of the mask, one hand settled at the crown and one at the chin. Those eyes watched her movements and she was unsure as to whether or not the being's stare accused her or just tolerated her presence there. With tentative movements, she lifted the mask upward the face, and soon she had exposed night-darkened hair and eyes colored a red deeper than the rancher's hair.

The being's face, however, did not show the accusation that Cremia had originally thought, but rather it was a plea. A plea that struggled to remain even with the impending threat of death and sleep, one that had reached those red eyes and begged the rancher wordlessly for help. The being's mouth opened but all that it could utter to her was that painful moan, as if words themselves were a divine effort just to speak. Its eyes were flittering and it blinked twice to attempt to clear its vision.

She started, so concentrated on the being's face, when a hand gripped her shoulder by the dress, and she pulled back just enough to see that the limb belonged to it. The strength was already failing in its limbs and it gripped the fabric of her dress to little avail. The hand slid down the sleeve of her dress and fell back to the ground. Cremia turned in time to see the figure's eyes close and that pleading face fall to the ground.

"Cremia..." But Cremia could not have answered Romani, even if she had known all of the words to say, because the words had escaped her just as they had escaped the masked being, unable even to curse their wretched luck and ask Fate why it was so cruel.

And sitting atop his wooden pillar that was the gateway from the Milk Road to rest of the world, the takkuri bird beheld the three with that permanent mocking grin that the Goddess had seen fit to etch into his thin beak.


End file.
